And Sappho Smiled
by The Flying Breadstick
Summary: Father Dickinson suddenly realises he is on a gay pirate ship: what's a fanatically Protestant cleric to do? Part of 'How My Perfect Life Was Inverted.'
1. Part the First

**Disclaimer:** I am not in anyway linked with Disney, PotC, Blackadder, Robin Hood, his Merry Men, Sappho, or the Ancient Greeks; I think I have everything covered…

**AN:** This short story is really for the readers of _How My Perfect Life Was Inverted_, as it helps shed some light on Cate's character, her relationship with Jack, and explains how exactly she and Jack ended up 'married,' and whose fault exactly _that_ was. I think it fair to warn you that this contains a minor, semi-plot-related spoiler for a future chapter of _How My Perfect Life Was Inverted_, but seeing how it's taking me so long to write that story…

**And Sappho Smiled**

**Part The First:** In Which Father Dickinson Realises He Is On A Gay Pirate Ship

It all started, as these things tended to do, with a bet; Jack was certain that, without the bet and the subsequent marriage _de facto_ that followed (_his_ marriage, to be exact), the kiss would never have happened, which was probably why it would be best to start with the bet and the hasty wedding that the bridegroom was too drunk to consummate (though he was loathe to admit it), with the occasional flashback strategically thrown in to clarify certain points and ensure that this tale is not in any way gratuitous.

Right then, onto the bet: and how better to introduce a wager than to name the gamblers involved, and the circumstances that lead to these almost respectable persons undertaking such an agreement? (Although to be perfectly honest for one moment, it should perhaps be noted that a wager does not play a large role in this tale; 'it all started with a bet' just happened to make a rather appealing opening sentence.)

The players in question were Captain Jack Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_ (obviously); the woman that was simultaneously his mistress, friend, and frustratingly collected equal, Miss Catriona Woodcraft, newly of the _Black Pearl_; and finally, Father Leonard Dickinson, a former cleric of the Church of England turned alcoholic buccaneer, and God only knows how _he_ got onto the deck of the _Black Pearl_.

Father Dickinson had come bursting into the captain's cabin rather early in the evening, and completely uninvited, as was demonstrated by Cate and Jack's twin shrieks of horror (he'd just taken her shirt off, as they had both been under the impression that no crewman would dare interrupt them). The cleric's cheap wig was askew, and he held in one hand a noticeably dry mop; what the other clenched fist held Jack couldn't quite see, as Cate's golden hair chose that particular moment to whip his cheek as she struggled to look over his shoulder, her fingers digging into his bare arms in an attempt to preserve her modesty, which Jack hadn't actually minded, all things considered.

"Captain, I've shocking news to report—I have reason to believe that your crew—"

He'd stopped then, and stared at the half-dressed woman pinned beneath the completely undressed captain, his mouth falling open in a gasp of disapproving horror.

"My son!" he said at last, his voice a bare whisper. "Not you too!"

It was at this point that Jack realised that there was not one inch of his body which the priest _couldn't_ fully observe in all its bare glory. The realisation made the pirate freeze in his place, completely oblivious to the uncomfortably wriggling Cate beneath him, and it seems almost gratuitous to say that the three remained in their respective positions for the next ten seconds or so.

It was Father Dickinson that first recovered his senses: he tucked his clenched fist which contained the object Jack had yet to glimpse, released a battle cry of "Demon!" and came barrelling towards the bed, wielding his mop in a most threatening manner and shouting a number of unrepeatable things which a priest really shouldn't be shouting at all but which nevertheless helped to clarify in Jack's mind that Dickinson was in fact targeting Cate. The woman immediately took action; with one powerful push, she had thrown the naked Jack off of her body—indeed, she had thrown him completely off of the bed, and he had the splintered backside to prove it—had grabbed the sheet, leapt nimbly over the cursing Jack lying on the floorboards, and had then demonstrated the fine art of multi-tasking as she simultaneously wrapped the bed sheet about her body whilst running from the mop-wielding cleric, who had taken to chasing her about the captain's cabin in a ludicrous and highly comical fashion which Jack would have found incredibly amusing had he not the splinters with which to contend.

Wincing, he sat up, somewhat grateful that his back wasn't completely broken, reached up to feel the mattress with one hand, and with agonising slowness, pulled himself up into a standing position. With one glance at Cate, who had just thrown a boot into Dickinson's sallow face, an action which had elicited a "Blast your swift hands, infernal concubine!" from the cleric in question, Jack had then engaged in a leisurely five-minute search for his clothing, and it was only after he had tied his sash securely about his waist that he decided it would be wise if he was to intrude.

"Children, children," he pacified, skilfully grabbing the mop from Father Dickinson's madly swinging hands with an air of one who had had experience with disarming bloodthirsty priests. Cate, having immediately noticed that Dickinson had been relinquished of his weapon, had halted in her steps, spun on her heel, and delivered a skilled punch that had sent the Protestant sprawling into Jack's not entirely open arms.

"_Bastard_," she hissed, clutching the sheet tightly to her naked torso. "You… utter… bastard…"

"Cate, sweetheart," Jack said sympathetically, himself clinging tightly onto Dickinson, who he strongly suspected was on the verge of tears, "how 'bout you go put some clothes on, eh? Looks as though we've company.

"And close the door as well," he added as an afterthought. "We've already given the crew an eyeful," and he gave her a salacious wink that had her smiling in embarrassment.

"Leonard, old friend," he addressed Father Dickinson as Cate scuttled off to do his bidding, "why don't you sit yourself down, help yourself to some brandy, dry your sweetly squinting grey eyes, and tell me what is so urgent it requires my immediate attention?"

Those of you who have met Father Dickinson before this rather unfortunate incident may be somewhat surprised at Jack's familiar behaviour towards the older gentleman, as on more than one occasion did Father Dickinson's rather warped and twisted religious beliefs directly collide with Jack's own personal inclinations. As luck would have it, Jack was a kind man, a thoughtful and forgiving gentleman of fortune who did not begrudge Dickinson his religious fervour, as Jack could plainly see that at the end of the day the priest only meant well. The fact that the cleric provided some wonderfully amusing sermons and kept his crew somewhat under his thumb with threats of eternal damnation may also have had something to do with it.

"It's your crew, sir," the priest gibbered as Jack carefully steered him towards the desk and gently pushed him into a seat. "The crew, the crew, the crew…" And he shuddered rather melodramatically as Jack arranged his feet on the table.

"And what of the crew, Father Dickinson?"

The priest swallowed once before continuing.

"Captain Sparrow, it grieves me to inform you that I've reason to suspect your crewmen are actively leading lives of sin."

Jack raised an eyebrow and feigned outrage. "And what vice did you witness my crewmen indulging in that led you to such a sorry conclusion?"

"I heard talk of… _of fornication_," Dickinson completed in a frightened whisper.

"Fornication, you say?"

"Aye, sir. _With women!_"

"Heavens above!" Jack exclaimed, secretly warming to his role and marvelling at what a wonderfully talented actor he made. "With _women_, you say?"

"Yes sir."

"Why, that is absolutely despicable!" Jack said, letting his feet fall to the floor so that he might lean forwards in his own chair. "Men, animals, birds, fish and insects are in abundance, and yet they still choose to lay with women. Disgusting."

"Absolutely," Dickinson agreed, and Jack could read in his face that the cleric was glad to have found another who shared his views. And then, in a slightly hesitant tone, "You've forgotten vegetables as well."

"Oh, I am sorry," Jack apologised. After a pause, he asked, more to make conversation than anything else, "Anyone I happen to know?"

"Oddly enough, yes: and she is Satan's most infernal succubus," he revealed in a voice seething with hatred.

"Oh, Sierra," Jack interpreted. "So… When you tell me that you overhead my crew speaking of indulging in the vice of fornication, what you in fact meant was that you overheard my crew indulging in the sin of lust. Well, that's not too bad."

"Not too bad…?" Father Dickinson parroted incredulously. "My son, surely you must know that the sin of lust _leads_ to the vice of fornication!"

"Isn't it odd," Jack observed pensively, "that lust is one of the seven deadly sins, whereas fornication is only a vice? Isn't there a slight inconsistency there?"

Father Dickinson appeared not to have heard this little observation.

"As I was saying," he continued, "I had overheard them freely indulging in the sin of lust, and as I pretended to mop," and he pointed to the object which Jack had so recently confiscated, "I heard them confessing, rather openly, that they had also broken one of the gravest of the Ten Commandments."

"'Thou shalt not commit adultery?'" Jack guessed. "'Thou shalt not murder?'"

"'Thou shalt not steal!'" Father Dickinson hissed with a violence not becoming a man of the cloth. "My son, your crew were talking rather openly of theft!"

It was on the tip of Jack's tongue to point out that his crew were of the piratical persuasion, but he wisely held himself in check.

"And what is more, they have implicated that you are their leader on such debauched raids!" Dickinson continued, and Jack couldn't help the impish smirk that stole across his features. Poor Father Dickinson saw this, and gasped once again in disapproval. "Jack," he murmured fearfully, "is there truth in any of this this?"

Jack looked the cleric directly in the eye. "I am afraid there is," he answered grimly, and bit his tongue to hold back his laughter at the expression on Dickinson's face. "But before you fetch that mop and beat me over the head with it," he added swiftly just as Dickinson proceeded to stand, "I have one thing to ask of you: have you ever heard of a man called Robin Hood?"

Dickinson frowned at this, obviously confused. "Robin Hood?"

"Aye, Robin Hood," Jack confirmed nonchalantly. "And his band of Merry Men."

"Indeed I have heard of Robin Hood and his gay associates," Father Dickinson replied.

"Oh good," Jack had smiled breezily. "And what, pray tell, is Robin Hood and his Merry Men most famed for?"

"Wearing green."

Jack frowned at this, and shook his head. "Not quite."

"Living in a forest like uncivilised natives."

"No…"

"Kidnapping Maid Marian and making her his bride—no, thwarting the Sheriff of Nottingham!"

"And how did they annoy the Sheriff of Nottingham?"

"They… stole from the rich and gave to the poor, did they not?"

"Exactly," Jack said, happy that the cleric had figured it out at last. "They _stole_ from the rich, much like what this pirate ship is fitted out for."

Father Dickinson merely looked confused, and Jack sighed.

"Father Dickinson, the time has come to explain to you the exact nature of piracy, and therefore the purpose of a pirate ship," he said, leaning back in his chair. He paused, uncertain of how to phrase the technical definition, whilst Dickinson looked mutely up at him with childlike curiosity in his eyes. Finally, he said, "I am Robin Hood; the crew, my unruly band of Merry Men."

"My son," Father Dickinson had gasped, looking at the captain in wonder, "are you telling me that you—that _we_—rob the rich?"

"Aye, that we do," Jack readily confirmed.

"So… So I assume that the _Black Pearl_ is government-funded?"

Jack had nearly fallen off of his seat at this point. "And why would you assume that my ship is government-funded?"

"Well… Are we not on a charitable cruise embarked upon with the sole purpose of helping the most unfortunate out of poverty, and in doing so therefore secure our immortal souls a place in Heaven alongside our Lord God?"

Jack just stared at the eloquent cleric in shock. "Not in so many words…" he corrected cautiously.

Father Dickinson frowned. "I don't understand," he said at last.

_And neither do I,_ Jack was tempted to add, wondering how he could have confused the cleric so greatly.

"Do you—we—not steal from the rich?"

"We do…" Jack confirmed.

"And do we not give our ill-gained profits to the poor?"

In a flash, Jack had realised where he had gone wrong.

"Oh, my dear Father, you are so very naïve; I meant to say that my crew and I are halfway to _becoming_ Robin Hood and his Merry Men: you see, we steal from the rich, but we don't directly give it to the poor…"

Jack was very tempted to say this aloud, but curbed the temptation; instead, he decided that it'll be best to encourage Father Dickinson to think for himself, which was why he said, "Well, we _do_ steal from the rich…" and gave Father Dickinson a meaningful glance that suggested that he complete the sentence for himself.

"But you… _don't_ give to the poor?" Dickinson had said somewhat nervously, his lower lip trembling. Jack was about to confirm this in a most casual and callous manner, but there was something about Father Dickinson's face, the palpable fear in his eyes, that made Jack hesitate.

"Father Dickinson," he said at last, "we _are_ the poor."

Dickinson's face had flooded with relief. "God be praised," he said. "Did you know, for a moment there I had feared that you were about to tell me that this ship is fitted out with one goal in mind, and that is for fast, illicit, material gain, but now that I realise it is in fact a government-funded attempt to reduce the high percentage of unemployment and number of people living out their shortened lives in unsanitary poverty, my mind is much at rest."

Looking incredulously at Dickinson's widely beaming face, Jack couldn't help but think that ignorance really was bliss.

"Of course it is," Jack half-heartedly agreed, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Cate, fully-dressed, had appeared, and was giving Father Dickinson a rather distrustful look. "So you may think what you will of my crew—every man's entitled to his own thoughts, that's a sad and sorry fact—but I think it best that next time you deem them sinful and plan to burst into my cabin with a mop—which I won't be giving immediately back to you, by the way, on account of your bad behaviour—" (Father Dickinson had looked rather crestfallen at these words.) "—I think it best that you stop, and think, and realise that you are sailing under the command of a government-funded Robin Hood, and that his Merry Men's behaviour, which you consider to be sinful, is in fact a demonstration of their happiness. Do you understand?"

"I do, sir," Father Dickinson nodded vigorously. "You are asking me to keep in mind the fact that I am on a gay pirate ship, and as such, bawdy talk, lewd acts, and overall indecent conduct may occasionally transpire, and to think nothing more of it when they do."

"And that it's all government-funded," Jack added, and saw Cate frowning rather prettily in confusion. He smiled softly at her, a subtle action that did not escape the notice of Father Dickinson, who turned in his seat to spot the fully-clad Cate watching the two of them.

"And _you_ must be the government representative," he gushed, and Cate's violet eyes widened in surprise as he rose to shake her hand. "I'm so very sorry about the attacking mop," he apologised profusely whilst Cate merely stared at him in mute shock. "It's just that the last time I saw the captain engage in such… intimate acts, the other participant was a satanic—albeit rather pretty, in fact far more beautiful than you yourself are, which is saying rather a lot—" Jack smirked slightly at the expression on Cate's face, finding that his treacherous heart agreed completely with Dickinson's sentiment "—succubus, and with that sort of _recent_ romantic history—she's still on the ship, did you know that?—one must be rather careful, don't you agree?"

Cate had abruptly slapped him.

"Well, I never!" Father Dickinson exclaimed, a hand reaching up to tentatively touch his cheek. "I think I shall retaliate by not paying my taxes this year, if this is the sort of behaviour the government encourages in its employees!"

"Get out, you pathetic, asinine fool," Cate had said, and to Jack's amazement, the priest had then trotted out of the cabin without another word.

"You are absolutely wonderful," Jack remarked, standing and going towards her with every intention of taking her in his arms, but she simply turned away, choosing instead to hug herself. Jack frowned at this before realising what had caused her sudden coldness, and then his face became one of sympathy.

"It's Sierra, isn't it?" he said to her.

Cate had snorted at this, and had silently replied by shooting a glance laced with derision over her shoulder. "Do you honestly think me such a simple creature that I would be so greatly affected by the mere mention of _her_ name?"

"Ah, but it wasn't _just_ a mere mention of a name though," Jack had pointed out, trying to slip an arm about her shoulder once more. "'Twas more of a short ode referring to the more… _attractive_ qualities the woman possesses which you resolutely lack."

Cate had quite understandably slapped his hand away, spinning on her heel to face him. "Oh, _honestly_!" she raged at seeing his pleased smirk. "Do you really believe I'm such a stereotypically sensitive member of the fairer sex as to be so greatly overcome with envy for another woman?"

"Is she still not warming to you, then?" Jack had guessed, ignoring her tirade. "I'm guessing you haven't even got a kiss out of her yet, have you?"

Cate was silent for a moment, processing his words. Then, quite abruptly, she turned around once more, intentionally whipping his cheek with her hair. There was a silence for a while, and then Cate finally gritted out, "I wouldn't have minded quite so much… if only she was…"

"Less than the perfect example of the female form?" Jack filled in for her, trying his best to suppress his glee. "If she had a more boyish figure, you mean, rather than that perfectly formed bosom or those long, shapely legs—which, I seem to recall that _you've_ never even seen, but rather only caught the occasional glimpse of?" Cate refused to rise to his bait, but Jack could see she was flushing, and decided to continue. "Or a less attractive face; pox marked, perhaps. Ah, if only her eyes weren't framed by such seductively feathery lashes; if only her lips were thinner, cracked, dry, rather than the smooth, soft, supple, all-encompassing—"

"You're really not helping, you know," Cate had informed him. "And that last one is more relevant to men than it is to women."

"I'm only telling you the things which, at your current rate, you will never find out about our dear Sierra," Jack had hummed innocently, choosing to ignore the way Cate had clenched fists. "Sweetheart," he advised, wrapping an arm about her waist despite her obviously cold response, "you're never going to get her into bed if you don't start treating her _nicely_."

Cate had simply shrugged. "I can't help it," she said bitterly. And then, in a moment of uncharacteristic sweetness, she continued: "I… I keep telling myself, _shouting_ at myself, 'Be nice, don't act like a complete cow,' but the moment I see her, I just…" And she spread her hands helplessly. "I just become a complete and utter bitch. I'm always like this whenever I'm around somebody who I actually… Well, let's just say that I've the same amount of romantic diplomacy as my brother," she added, and he saw the ghost of a smile gracing her lips. "If only she didn't have such perfect breasts; I wouldn't be so distracted if her bosom was less than worthy of Venus herself."

The sentiment was sweet and sincere enough; the wording perhaps needed a little more work.

Jack had kissed her cheek then, and if anyone had been around to witness it, they would have been surprised to see that the kiss was purely platonic; a kiss shared amongst close friends, not lovers, as everyone had naturally assumed them to be, but which is in fact utter nonsense. For you see, the two pirates could only ever be at most close friends (despite their lascivious activities), for Cate was what is known in modern terms as a lesbian, and she was merely using her body to ensure that she had a place on Jack's ship, alongside her brother, a fairy by the name of Flavio, which wasn't actually his real name at all.

(And it goes without saying that he was more than willing to use his own body in place of Cate's, which Cate had expressly forbidden, deeming such relations as sinful and unnatural. These beliefs are not in any way hypocritical; she simply didn't like the idea of her beloved brother with a man, as he did get hurt rather easily, and would complain for days afterwards, and he had an annoying habit of relieving his conquests in rather graphic detail, and there are a million other reasons Cate had for preferring her brother to remain celibate, but this bracket has gone on for long enough.)

Now, where were we? Ah yes, Cate's sexual preferences, and her shameless indulgence in prostitution (she actually once was a whore, but that's slightly irrelevant to this tale). Jack had suspected, from the very moment that he had first met Cate, that she was a tribade; she didn't fall for his boyish charms and give herself to him on the spot, which was always a sign that there was something wrong with a woman. He'd been puzzled at how she had appeared rather friendly yet apparently didn't find him at all attractive, but it wasn't until she had first lain eyes on Sierra, of whom the captain had stupidly said a great many wonderful things about, some of which had basis in truth, and Jack had seen the look that had passed briefly across her face, that he began to suspect (rather gleefully) the real reason that she barely glanced at him.

It wasn't until, later that night, when he had her thoroughly liquored up, that she had let slip her Sapphic inclinations, and had been so mortified to have revealed her 'unnatural' feelings to an utter stranger, that she had literally slept with him on the spot, very probably to disprove her tribadism, although Jack wasn't fooled for an instant. She continued to warm his bed, and would have been most contented with just being his mistress, but the two sailors had inevitably developed a swift and unlikely friendship, and she had slowly, willingly unmasked her true nature. Jack's immediate thought was that this preference for members of the same sex must have run in the family, and Cate had frowned when he'd put this theory forth to her.

Cate jumped suddenly in his arms, startling Jack out of his recollections, and stamped her bare foot in exasperation. Jack looked down at her scowling features before turning his head towards the door, and nearly cried out in despair, for there stood Father Dickinson, holding out an upturned palm and gloating.

"Do forgive my intrusion, Captain," the priest had said, stepping completely into the cabin and slamming the door shut behind him, "but I've suddenly remembered why it was that I needed so desperately to speak with you in the first place. Remember how I was telling you that the majority of your crew were shameless unrepentant sinners damned to an eternity of fiery torment?"

Jack sighed exasperatedly into Cate's soft hair. "Yes, Father Dickinson, I do indeed recall that…" he admitted glumly whilst silently wondering what he had to do to get a government-funded fuck around here.

"_Well_…" Father Dickinson continued, marching happily towards the platonically sexual couple, "I had first entered your cabin with a proposal for you which, with your consent, would hopefully cleanse your crew's filthy souls, hearts, and minds." He stopped in front of them, motioning with his hand that Cate, who was in the middle of slipping away and leaving the two men to discuss whatever it was that they discussed, to stay.

Jack raised a questioning eyebrow as Cate stood obediently by his shoulder. "Oh really, Father?" he'd asked, more out of politeness than anything else. "Do tell us, as I'm rather concerned that if you do not you may explode all over my cabin, and with all the effort that I've made to tidy it, it'll be rather a shame if I had to begin all over again, wouldn't it?"

"Well, _you_," he addressed Jack happily, "are the captain, the crew's leader; the crew look to _you_ for guidance. You are an example to them all; a paragon of perfection to which they all aspire to."

Jack simply shrugged at this flowery compliment. "Well, they're only human," he modestly noted.

"This is why I have put so much time and effort into cleansing your soul, your heart, your entire way of life—if the crew see you as a good and pious Christian, leading a good and Christian life, they will therefore be content to follow your example." He turned to Cate at this point, beaming widely down at her. "My dear, are you a Christian woman?"

Cate seemed caught off guard at so random an enquiry. "Well, I suppose Flavio and I are technically Catholics…" she admitted uneasily.

Dickinson's smile only widened, and he shook his head. "Catholics aren't Christians, my dear," he said to her before turning back to Jack. "As I was saying, if you were to lead a good and Christian life… Why, I am here to help you _both_ lead a good and Christian way of life…"

And he surprised the two pirates, who were _both_ 'technically' Catholics (although Cate didn't believe in God, and Jack likewise was a proud atheist, choosing to return to religion only when it suited him), by gently taking them both by the hand, and slowly, symbolically, bringing their two hands together so that Jack's larger palm was resting over Cate's delicate white fingers, grinning crookedly at the two of them.

"And what better start," he concluded happily, "to a good, honest, virtuous Christian life, than by taking a newly-Christian wife?"

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**AN:** I probably should have mentioned at the beginning that there was some femmeslash involved, but then it would have ruined the surprise; and besides, the title _did_ kind of give it away, so you can't exactly accuse me of _not_ giving a warning…


	2. Part the Second

**And Sappho Smiled**

**Part The Second:** In Which Father Dickinson Confuses The Gender Of Mr. Cotton's Parrot

"Sod off, Leonard," Cate snapped, before Jack even had the chance to reply. "There's no way in hell I'm wedding _that_ eccentric, effeminate excuse for a pirate; I've always told myself that if ever I _do_ marry, it wouldn't be to an insensitive prat. No offence, darling," she added at Jack's look.

"I am _not_ an effeminate prat."

"And I never said you were," Cate pointed out before turning back to the horrified cleric. "Leonard, my dear and most mistrusted acquaintance… Oh, how can I _possibly_ put this delicately?—Get stuffed." And then, to Jack: "I'm going to bed; you're welcome to follow, but I'd rather you didn't." And she left the two insulted gentlemen of fortune gaping in her wake and shamelessly drinking in her backside.

_No wonder Sierra's not warmed to her,_ Jack thought to himself. _She really can be a cold-hearted bitch._ And then, aloud: "Well, dear Leonard, my bride-to-be has made her feelings clear; now, if you'll please excuse yourself, I have a number of amoral and libidinous affairs to attend to."

And he would have marched immediately after her, had he not been hit rather painfully over the head with a mop.

Unbeknownst to Jack, who was unconscious at the time, Father Dickinson, grinning rather wickedly, calmly untied the man's long sash, stealthily crept after Cate, who was in another part of the cabin sectioned off by a rather conspicuous wall, quietly opened the door, struck her also over the head with the mop, dragged her unconscious body to rest beside her future husband's, and tied the two together in an accurate but politically-incorrect portrayal of wedlock.

When this was done, Dickinson stood back, silently admiring his handiwork, his face falling on realising too late that both participants had to be conscious in order to participate in the marriage ceremony. Shrugging, the cleric looked out towards the dark window, and then around the cabin for something to keep himself occupied until one or both of the pirates awoke. His eyes fell on Jack's desk, on which was spread a large map of the entire world, and he clapped his hands together in delight; of course! He could attempt to pinpoint the exact coordinates of the Garden of Eden! That always took up a large amount of time.

Taking this as a sign from God that he was in fact working His Will, Father Dickinson pulled out the chair, settled himself comfortably into the seat, and, humming a hymn to himself, leaned forwards the better to pensively pore over the world as mankind knew it.

* * *

When Jack awoke, it was to the frustrated growling of Cate beside him—that, and the unfamiliar throbbing pain gracing his skull with its presence. He moaned, and attempted to reach up and rub his head, only to discover that he could not complete such a feat. He frowned at this, and rather reluctantly opened his eye to find that he was actually sitting up, his arms bound behind his back, leaning on another person's back.

"Morning, sunshine," he heard Cate say from some point behind his head. And then: "Have you ever considered losing weight? You're surprisingly heavy for your girlish frame."

_Bitch,_ Jack couldn't help but think, before remembering that the more attractive Cate found a person, the more insulting she would become, so he decided to take it as a compliment whilst silently wondering if he was on the edge of converting her.

"What's happening?" he asked the woman, slowly shaking his head.

"Well, I assume that that bastard cleric Dickinson had knocked us both over the head with a powerful and possibly heavy weapon, thus rendering the both of us unconscious, tied us back to back like so, and had then sat down to hunt for the Garden of Eden."

Jack furrowed his brow at this. "The Garden of Eden?"

"Aye, the Garden of Eden," Cate confirmed with a heavy sigh. "I thought I knew the complete extent of religious fanaticism, but now that I've met Father Dickinson…"

"I'm having him flogged as soon as I'm out of these knots," Jack promised her.

"Oh no, please don't!" Cate protested suddenly. "Yes, he is annoying, yes, he is madder than a Bedlamite, and yes, his warped, twisted, and entirely interfering beliefs may be set in stone, but he's only trying to do what he thinks is right. And besides," she added, "tying up your captain for the express purpose of having him wed does not go against the Code nor your Articles."

Cate couldn't see it, what with their backs to one another and all, but Jack's face had fallen considerably at this.

"M—Marriage?" he asked, somewhat calmly. "_That_ is what this is all about? He wants us to be bound for eternity in unholy matrimony?"

"Holy, I think you'll find," Cate corrected. "Marriage is a sacred and consecrated covenant—"

"Only when it's entered into willingly," Jack told her, and Cate's posture stiffened at this.

"Are you saying you _don't_ want to marry me?" she asked, her voice misleadingly even.

"Ye—No! No no no no no, of course not," he assured her most convincingly. "I… I'm just… merely concerned as to whether I am worthy of your everlasting love and fidelity—"

"You don't want to be married to me at all, do you?" Cate asked, and Jack was surprised to discover that, beneath the anger, disbelief, and overall offence colouring her tone, she sounded hurt as well. Was she… in _love_ with him? (Of course, he couldn't really blame her if she was; on average, three and half women fall in love with Jack Sparrow a day.)

"Of course I'm not!" Cate had snapped waspishly, sounding rather offended. "You're a man! It's completely unnatural for a woman to fall in love with a _man_."

Jack nodded in agreement, paused, replayed her words rather carefully, and frowned at the lacking logic of it all. Before he could question her further, however, the door of the cabin opened, and in strolled Father Dickinson, followed by a sleepy-eyed Mr. Cotton and his parrot.

"Ah," he exclaimed, sounding most delighted. "The bridegroom has at last awakened. I trust your rest has been peaceful and untroubled?"

Jack's eyes narrowed at the happily beaming priest. "Surprisingly so," he told Dickinson. "I dreamt that I had discovered the exact, _exact_ bearings of the Garden of Eden."

Dickinson's smile was literally wiped off of his face at this; abandoning Mr. Cotton and the parrot by the door, he strolled swiftly towards the captain, grabbed him by the shirt, and demanded that he be given these dreamt up bearings. "For after all," he reasoned solemnly, "did God not grant David priceless knowledge through a dream?"

"I don't actually think so…" Jack confessed.

"Depends which David you're talking about though, doesn't it?" Cate had added rather coolly; she snarled when Dickinson scuttled to face her, and Jack was certain that she was attempting to bite him. Judging by the sudden yelp and stream of decidedly blasphemous curses that had then issued forth from the cleric, she had succeeded.

Jack hastily schooled his expression to one of great concern as Father Dickinson hobbled back to the captain, clutching his hand and whimpering. "She doesn't like to be poked, your future government-representative wife," he told Jack confidentially. "To ensure a happy future and your own general health and well-being, I strongly advise you to never poke your wife."

Jack just had to raise an eyebrow at this; he honestly couldn't think of any other way to respond, except for the meek, "Why are _you_, of all people, poking my wife?"

Cate let out a strangled cry of outrage. "I am _not_ your wife!" she snapped most truculently.

"She's right, you know," Father Dickinson confirmed. "Technically, this government representative is merely your fiancée."

Jack furrowed his brow, wondering how Cate, of all people, could be working on behalf of the government; wasn't she an anarchist?

Cate, on the other hand, seemed to be calm enough to play Father Dickinson's belief to her advantage; he felt her body straighten against his spine, and heard her say coolly, "Mr. Leonard Dickinson, release us this instance, or I shall have to report this unorthodox and most distressing incident to my superiors, who I assure you are more than happy to double your current taxes."

Father Dickinson squeaked in fear whilst Jack's brow furrowed as he silently wondered whether members of the Church of England were liable to pay taxes in the first place. Apparently so.

"Bastards!" Dickinson cursed, waving his arms in an effeminate and offensively accurate impersonation of Jack's own flying limbs. "The government will use any excuse to rob us decent, honest, hard-working citizens of our coin!" And he spat onto the floorboards, much to Jack's disgust.

"Leonard, mate…" he tried, flashing the cleric his most charming smile, which had Dickinson crossing himself and muttering something in Latin that Jack was almost certain was grammatically-incorrect. "Listen; I've a sudden and brilliant idea that will render the three of us highly satisfied."

Father Dickinson had the good grace to look disgusted. "Dear God, I hope you're not propositioning me," he informed his captain, sounding most offended. "I may be the most attractive creature on this ship with a fashionable wig and impeccable dress sense, but that does not mean I am either easy or loose. And I certainly won't sell my favours for _common coin_." He paused, leaned a little closer, and added conspiratorially, "Unless, of course, the currency with which you plan to pay me for my troubles involves the salvation of my immortal soul and guaranteed entrance into the eternal paradise…"

Jack closed his eyes and leaned his head back to rest on Cate's golden skull with a sigh. "I wasn't talking of _that_ sort of satisfaction, Father Dickinson," he informed the dirty-minded priest.

Father Dickinson paused, his eyes wide and glassy whilst the rest of his face remained oddly immobile. "…Oh," he said at last. "Yes, yes, of course; I mean, obviously, I would never _dream_… Never even _consider_… Shoe!"

Jack frowned at this. "Shoe?" he asked, whilst behind him he thought he heard Cate repress a snigger.

"Yes sir, shoe! That bird is doing something most indecent and unhygienic inside your shoe!"

"_What!_" Jack raged, noting that his feet were indeed bare. He attempted to turn around to see what the bird was doing, although he already had a slight and discomforting idea, but found that, thanks to his bindings and Cate's annoying reluctance to help, he merely squirmed most inelegantly on his own floorboards. The entire situation wasn't exactly what one would call dignifying.

"You!" he yelled on spotting the passive Mr. Cotton standing behind Father Dickinson. "Get that bloody bird of yours under control!"

The bird squawked and said something which sounded a lot like "I obey no man," followed by a long and lengthy criticism of the low standard of Jack's boots in terms of hygiene and why, for these reasons, the bird would rather wait until back on deck to relieve itself, which Jack supposed was _slightly_ better than doing so within his own boot.

It was only then that Jack began to wonder what Mr. Cotton was doing in the cabin with Father Dickinson in the first place, and he frowned before voicing his query to Cate rather loudly in the hopes that Dickinson would answer; after what the bird had just tried to do, Jack wasn't really on speaking terms with the parrot.

And of course, Father Dickinson, predictable fool that he was, was more than happy to oblige.

"Why, Captain Sparrow!" he said, grinning at Jack in delight. "Surely you, with your unmatched intellect, would surely be well aware that a wedding needs witnesses to be considered valid! Of course," he continued whilst Jack began to choke, "we live in an age where the common law marriage which consists of the husband and wife simply claiming to take each other in wedlock is considered valid, hence why I decided to make do with a mute and a very pretty bird."

"The bird's not that pretty," Jack had muttered under his breath; the parrot heard this, fluffed out its chest, and squawked indignantly, and if you had been the bird, you would have done exactly the same thing.

"Mr. Dickinson," Cate spoke, her voice cold enough to freeze fire, "I always knew that you knew less about the workings of the Protestant church than the average cleric; however, I was under the impression that you knew enough to realise that a marriage entered into unwillingly is invalid in the eyes of both the church _and_ the law."

"You talk too much," Jack told her sulkily; he wasn't able to think of anything worthy of his wit at that particular moment.

"Oh, shut up," Cate told him at the very same moment that Dickinson began, rather gloatingly, "On the contrary, Mrs. Sparrow, we live in an age where all a man and woman need do to be seen as wed in the eyes of both the law and church is _claim_ to be married, _preferably_ in front of witnesses. Surely you, a government representative, should know _that_."

"Ah, but even so, Father Dickinson, such arrangements require our consent," Jack pointed out smugly and rather condescendingly.

"_Not_," the cleric stressed, "if you've five witnesses to such an act."

"Five?" Cate asked.

"Of course _five_," Dickinson confirmed gleefully. "The bride and bridegroom, Mr. Cotton, myself, and Paulette."

Jack frowned. "Paulette?"

"The parrot," Cate filled in most helpfully.

"The parrot can't be a witness," Jack said slowly. "It's not even human."

Father Dickinson blinked his bleary eyes. "What's your point?" he asked of the captain. "The minimum requirement by law is two witnesses, and there are four others excluding _Monsieur_ Paulette—"

"_Madame_, surely," Cate interrupted suddenly, and both the captain and the cleric turned (or in the captain's case, attempted to turn) to stare at her. The beautiful woman flushed under the scrutiny, but continued determinedly, "Paulette is a feminine name."

"That doesn't necessarily mean that it can't be given to a member of the masculine gender," Father Dickinson sniffed.

"Only my brother would give males feminine names and females masculine," Cate snapped testily. "Are you likening Mr. Cotton to my brother?"

"And what if I am?" Father Dickinson asked breezily. "Your brother, my dear, is an upstanding member of society, and a credit to the Protestant Church of England besides."

"No he's not, he's an effeminate bugger, and a Catholic one at that," she retorted tetchily.

"Trifles," Father Dickinson waved away, and Cate huffed in sweet indignation. If Jack could, he would have reached over and patted her hand in a comforting gesture; instead, he settled for leaning gently back so that his head was resting on her shoulder, and kissed what part of her skin his lips could reach.

It proved to be a most fatal mistake: Father Dickinson, upon seeing the affectionate gesture, was immediately reminded of his purpose on God's great green earth and, with an excited exclamation of "Aha!" started to shake his mop most elatedly.

"But returning to the ceremony," he began most imperiously, but was rudely interrupted by Jack. "Yes, my child?"

"We refuse to go through with these connubial proceedings," Jack said to the man.

There was a silence, and then, to everyone's surprise, Father Dickinson burst into tears, curling most piteously on the floor, his hands clinging tightly to his mop. Even Cate was moved by the wretched sight.

"Jack…" she said to him, hesitantly. "Jack, perhaps we should…"

Jack raised his eyebrows at this, silently daring her to continue before realising she was not in a position to see him. "Perhaps we should what?" he asked her authoritatively as they both watched the sobbing cleric, utterly transfixed by the abnormal sight.

"You know… To humour him?"

Jack found the entire idea utterly unnatural. "I can't just _marry_ for him!" he exclaimed. "Not when I'm as sober as I am, and certainly not using my real name!"

The utter oddness of these last words brought a slight frown to her features. "You're married?" she asked, curious.

"…No…" Jack lied.

"_Because_, if you _are_ already married, then surely that would render ours invalid," she told him indifferently.

There was a silence in which Leonard Dickinson continued to bawl and Jack's left arm decided to go numb; it was this last, more than anything, that convinced Jack to relent. Besides, he had suddenly remembered how, on one drunken night in Tortuga's Faithful Bride, he and a Mr. Joshamee Gibbs had struck a wager, the terms being that a certain Captain Jack Sparrow would be unable to wed a Sapphist within a year. Five guineas were at stake, and as Cate had pointed out, their union wouldn't be valid in the slightest. Gibbs would have forgotten all about the wager by now, but Jack certainly hadn't. And, considering how he could now very easily succeed, he felt as though it was high time he called in his debts. Five guineas was a substantial sum of money.

And he _really_ needed to piss.

And so, with a heavy sigh, Captain Jack Sparrow consented to the nuptial ceremony.

* * *

"You appear to be very familiar with these proceedings," Cate accused half an hour later, when the last of the wedding party had left the bridal cabin. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Do I detect a hint of jealously, dear Cate?" Jack teased, uncorking a bottle of rum as he spoke, and she scowled.

"Jack…"

Jack looked at her for a long moment, studying her face before offering the liquor to her, a generosity she politely declined.

"You're the first of my wives to bear the name of Sparrow," he admitted, and Cate seemed to choke as a result.

"Wives?" she echoed.

"Yes, wives; I've a dozen of those."

Cate simply gaped, and it wasn't surprising that she did so.

"I never married any of them using my real name, of course," Jack reassured his latest bride, smiling as though this was a great compliment.

"Well, that's just…" she sputtered. "What name did you use, then?"

Jack smirked, delighted that she would ask such a thing.

"Trueand Loyll," he told her offhandedly.

"Oh, God…" she uttered, clearly disbelieving. "And… none of them realise that that's not your real name?"

Jack frowned at the question, then shook his head. "No, I don't think so," he admitted cheerfully.

"But… But why would you do such an unnatural thing?" she asked, for it was true that marriage did not seem to be a typical pastime of Jack Sparrow's.

Jack hesitated. "Well, sometimes a man would rather not visit a whore…" he said, and Cate lost her control.

"You bastard!" she cried aloud, uncaring of who heard. "You utter bastard! Have you _no_ respect for women?"

Jack decided that his moment of honesty had best be drawing to a close.

"So, tell me, Mrs. Sparrow," he said hurriedly as Cates's anger intensified. "With our wedding night so young—"

They were, unfortunately for Cate and extremely fortunately for Jack, interrupted by the reappearance of Father Dickinson, who had stumbled gracelessly in with his eyes covered by his hand. "Don't mind me," he told them as he tottered about the cabin, "I'm merely looking for my mop."

"Leonard," Cate said to the man, almost amiably, her anger at her husband momentarily curbed, "you can open your eyes; nothing of great interest or depravity is occurring as of this moment."

Father Dickinson slowly lowered his hand and hesitantly opened his eyes, staring as Cate handed the priest the mop.

"Why aren't the two of you in bed yet?" he asked the married couple, confused. "Marriages aren't truly validated until they've been consummated, you know."

"Oh believe me, Father Dickinson, I am trying," Jack hurried to assure the gentleman, and Cate merely glared at this comment.

"Out of interest, Leonard," she asked, disarmingly brushing down Father Dickinson's weathered coat, "if one or both of us wished to annul, for strange and unnatural reasons, our marriage, might it be possible that you would permit such an annulment to occur?"

Father Dickinson looked at her for a moment before bursting out laughing.

"'Tis only under one condition," he said when he had finished cackling, "and one condition alone, that I will allow such a travesty, this _annulment_ of which you speak of, to occur, and that is only if I was to witness one—or the both of you—committing a most lewd and indecent act with an infernal succubus from the very depths of Hell itself, who has somehow smuggled her misleadingly beautiful self aboard this gay pirate ship using underhand means and the limitless affections of a sweetly pouting child."

And with this rather specific proclamation concluded, Father Dickinson had slammed the door of the marital cabin shut, leaving the reluctant newlyweds to contemplate their situation.

Jack and Cate merely looked at one another, understanding flashing between them like a lightning bolt. And then as one, they both said with utter conviction:

"Sierra."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**AN:** Before Lord Hardwicke's Marriage Act of 1752, marriage amongst the poor was relatively easy to achieve, and rather questionable as a result. There really were records of soldiers and sailors coming into London, marrying a few girls, and then leaving them again; to quote _Dr Johnson's London_, by Liza Picard:

"_Spelling in those days was somewhat flexible, and given names can be surprising, but even bearing both those factors in mind, one wonders whether Ann Taylor, who in 1749 married a sailor whose name is recorded as Trueand Loyll, ever saw him again after the consummation of the marriage."_

To me, that name just had Jack Sparrow written all over it.


	3. Part the Third

**And Sappho Smiled**

**Part The Third:** In Which Father Dickinson Is Conspicuous Only By His Absence

Jack found that he was unable to sleep that night, which was why the captain could be seen wondering aimlessly about the _Black Pearl_, barefoot and half naked. The sleeplessness did not, however, explain how the man had wondered down several flights of stairs and onto a particular deck, the level of which held a particular cabin which in itself contained a particular occupant. (Reciprocated, unrepentant lust, preventable sexual frustration, and an unhappy marriage, however, did a fair job as far as justifications were concerned.)

Before he could take even one certain step towards a certain cabin containing a certain inhabitant, he spotted another creature moving slowly, hesitantly, yet somehow determinedly towards the very same destination. A small creature with black hair and pale skin, a mere three—or four—feet or so in height; he wasn't actually certain. He really ought to measure her at some point.

"Pearl?" he called out, and his daughter jumped with a barely repressed squeak at being addressed before turning to look at him in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, unknowingly clutching her bundled clothing tighter even as her inquisitive blue eyes scanned his half-dressed form accusingly. "I thought you stopped your night-time visits to Sierra _weeks_ ago."

Jack cleared his throat, shifted a little, and proceeded to feel very uncomfortable at being accused of licentious intentions by a mere child of eight. That very same child who was now shaking her head and sighing in knowing exasperation as she instinctively tottered towards him, reaching up a small hand to rest patronisingly on his.

"Oh Papa, you lovesick old fool…" she said pityingly. The adjective, so carelessly thrown in, jolted him back to reality, and he suddenly remembered why he was standing there, half-dressed and sleepless, and it _certainly_ had nothing to do with neither sickness nor _love_, despite his precocious daughter's tragically premature and therefore inaccurate postulations.

Really.

"Pearl," the captain began sullenly, determined to defend his innocence, or what was left of it, "just because I'm sneaking down to Sierra's cabin in the middle of the night—" _Even if I am already mostly undressed,_ he thought suddenly, and stopped at the beginning of his lecturing tirade as this smug thought entered his mind. Well, he could hardly be blamed for wanting female company; it _was_ his wedding night after all. Didn't he have a right to such activities?

Fortunately for Jack (even though that particular fortune was not viewed as such by the pirate in question), the door to a certain woman's cabin flew open without warning, and a pale gentlemen in pastel clothing was all but thrown out.

"For God's sake, Flavio!" a perfectly modulated voice cried in exasperation. "How many times must I say it? I _do not_ want to sleep with you! Now go!"

"But—Sierra—" the blond stuttered even as the brunette slammed the door in his face, and Jack realised that, if he wished to endure this night unmolested, he had best be on his way, which was why he picked up the child and fled to his cabin, where he distracted himself from all thoughts concerning wanton scenarios by watching his daughter fall asleep.

But even then, he still couldn't stop thinking…

_If only Cate was here,_ he thought irritably as he tucked the covers around his daughter's sleeping form. But she wasn't; she was so determined to avoid her love rat of a 'husband,' with his lax views and trivial beliefs concerning matrimony, not to mention the fact that he was at this very instant married to several other women, that she had opted to spend the night in the crow's nest. Night air helped clear her head, she'd said; helped to calm her. And it'll help her to form a plan that will rid Dickinson of this preposterous idea of marriage.

Readers might wonder why both Jack Sparrow and Catriona Woodcraft (now Sparrow) were so determined to annul their unofficial union. Well, the explanations are relatively simple and rather straightforward: A lesser reason was that divorce at that time was uncommon, principally because an act of parliament was required to validate such matters; the true incentive, of course, was far more selfish and subject-specific than that.

The crew had somehow discovered (due in no small part to Father Dickinson and that blasted parrot, he suspected) their captain and fellow crewmember's happy news, and throughout the entire course of the evening, had meandered up to the captain's cabin in order to offer their heartfelt congratulations and bestow upon the newlyweds cheap but meaningful gifts (which, as Jack and Cate would happily tell you, were the worst kind of gifts to receive). But to get to the point, Jack's motley band of sea rovers actually _believed_ that their marital status was valid—and one does not require an overly-active imagination to realise how this 'fact,' spread all over the Caribbean by his entire crew (who apparently were all witnesses to such an unholy _mésalliance_), will affect the carefully cultivated reputation of Jack Sparrow. If not for this aggravating minor detail, both pirate and wife would have simply forgotten the entire affair, recalling it only during a rather late drinking session with mocking laughter. But no: out of all of the rum-swigging, mop-wielding, piratical clerics in all of the Caribbean, Jack _had_ to go and hire a fanatic, and a fanatic with remarkable influence over his crew, at that. Personally, Jack was uncertain of how tremendously unhinged a man must be if he allowed himself to be guided by a mind-addled, rum-soaked, and somewhat disillusioned knave, particularly upon the high seas, but he didn't have time to question the sanity of his crew.

But to return to the present situation: Jack was certain that he had a vague idea of how to ward Dickinson, and therefore the crew, off of the idea of any sort of nuptial arrangement involving their captain.

_I suppose I've no choice but to bed Sierra,_ Jack thought to himself, trying and failing to feel some sort of commiseration. An inkling. A drip—a bloody dewdrop's worth of sorrow will do.

_But what of Cate?_ After all, did Dickinson not specifically say that he had to witness the _both_ of them committing a most lewd and indecent act with Sierra? (Technically, the priest had said that it was either one or both of the married couple, but Jack's mind had, most curiously enough, omitted this particular element of the 'agreement.')

Jack shook his dark head, pulling himself out of his thoughts, and cautiously moved away from the sleeping Pearl. It wouldn't do to have such passions in the presence of his mostly innocent daughter. And she clearly was quite unwilling to relinquish his pillow or even an inch of the bedclothes; it was something of a miracle that her little hands allowed _him_ to escape. There was really only one solution to this problem; only one other place, beside the communal crew's quarters, where he _could_ go. And it really wouldn't hurt to go through certain phases of the annulment _now_, would it?

He had to be cautious as he picked up the iron ring of keys, clinging tightly to the long strips of metal so as to ensure that their jangling wouldn't disturb Pearl's rest. And he had to be careful, of course, that the floorboards didn't creak nor the door squeak as he exited. And, of most significant importance, he had to ensure that none of the crew saw him sneak down to the young whore so subtly yet unforgettably ensconced in the cabin below. Visiting her like this was actually putting her at risk, he knew; a fundamental aspect of the piratical democracy was an equal share of _everything_ that the crew captured. And he'd heard the gruesome stories of how Blackbeard himself had watched whilst his numerous wives were raped by his crewmen… A possible exaggeration of the truth, perhaps, but many men, including pirates, took it as fact.

The door was locked when he'd gently tried to push it open, as he'd suspected it would be; after Doyle's attempt to ravish her, Sierra had certainly become more cautious of his crew, even if she wasn't willing to admit it.

The captain paused, looking warily about him, as though to reassure himself that he was not being watched; then, with a quiet (but ever so slightly impish) movement, he jammed one of the keys into the lock, and turned—

Only to reluctantly pull it out at again, glaring at the wrought metal in irritation. The problem with Jack's set of keys, you see, was that they weren't marked; each and every one of them were at first, second, and thirtieth glance, completely identical. And there were a lot of keys.

Making a mental note of the offending item, he tucked the key away from its brothers, and tried its almost-identical twin. It took him seven attempts before the door finally clicked and swung easily open under his touch. Grinning smugly, he slipped inside, holding the covered lantern high above his head so that he might better examine the room.

The first thing he noticed was how empty it appeared; the desk was utterly clear but for one lonely lantern, and a key resting beside it; the chair, seated before it—and Jack had to suppress a gulp as his dark eyes fell upon the sight—had a bundled skirt upon the seat, a hastily folded blouse on top of this, and a pair of innocent white stockings draped over the back. It was the stockings that made him feel so uncomfortable; he recognised those stockings. She'd worn them when they'd first…

Jack tore his gaze away from the intimate articles, and glanced towards the bed, closing the door quietly behind him as he did so. He could make out her form, a pale, slender shape, beneath the covers, her dark hair providing a stark contrast to all the white. Skulking closer, the captain couldn't help but frown at the sight that greeted him as he stared pensively down at her, taking in her pallid skin—she'd never been so colourless before! That, coupled with her emaciated appearance—for she had lost a worrying amount of weight, despite the fact she was supposedly with child—made him feel as though he was looking into the face of death.

If Jack had been the sort of man who looked towards fashion, he'd have been pleased with the changes that had occurred to her in the six weeks she'd been on his ship; dark hair, a pale complexion, and a fragile countenance—as though one was ready to faint at any given moment—were what many considered the ideal beauty. Personally, Jack preferred her as she was in the brothel; lively, passably voluptuous, with a hint of gold in her skin and sapphires in her eyes. He was certain that her eyes hadn't lost that spark he'd found so attractive—but, with the girl asleep, and her eyes closed as a result, Captain Sparrow did find it a bit difficult to judge this particular feature of hers.

Carefully seating himself on the edge of the mattress, Jack gently set his lantern down on the floorboards beside them, and leant down to softly whisper her name in her ear.

She didn't stir; her breathing remained as it was, deep, steady and naturally unchanging. Frowning, he lightly pressed his nose, then his lips, against her cheek, his hand snaking around her waist and toying with the buttons of her shift before pulling her closer.

She reacted then, even if it was in the broadest sense of the word; he felt her back pressing against him of its own accord, and heard her sigh. Pleased with his progress, he pulled her hair away from her neck, and nipped lightly on the silky skin. Even in sleep, she gasped, and her shoulders seemed to jerk in tension.

This didn't put Jack off in the slightest.

"Sierra?" he said again, his gruff voice low as he turned her so that he could look into her face.

Her dark eyebrows seemed to knit together, lips pursing into a frown. "Steve?" she asked, her voice sleepy and childlike—the voice of one who was only half aware.

Jack, quite understandably, froze at this literally unconscious revelation, gaping down at the aesthetic beauty as she unwittingly burrowed further into his arms.

"Steve," she murmured again, her lips only inches from his own as she unknowingly uttered another man's name.

Looking down at her in—well, disgust was the last thing he felt towards her; disappointment seemed slightly more appropriate—the captain carefully returned her sleeping form back to the mattress, and drew away, quietly picking up the lantern and loudly knocking over the chair.

He cursed as the furnishing teetered teasingly on its legs before falling back, and he could have sworn that he heard Sierra cry out—but when he looked back, all he could see was her sleeping face.

Clumsily, he hastily righted the chair, and tossed the clothing that had rested upon it haphazardly back onto the seat, making certain to drape the stockings on its back.

Then, with one last mournful glance (_If she says my name, I'll stay_), Captain Jack Sparrow slowly sauntered out, and when Sierra awoke in the morning, she was utterly ignorant of the perplexingly intimate actions that had transpired the night before.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**AN:** This was originally the smaller part of a **_much_** longer chapter, but I thought that in order to have people notice/remember this little sequence (which in itself has relatively little to do with _this_ story) I had to post it separately. Besides, it makes the scene change that little bit less "sudden," considering how this chapter is somewhat "serious" whereas the others… aren't…


	4. Part the Fourth

**And Sappho Smiled**

**Part The Fourth:** In Which Father Dickinson, Under Threat Of Buggery, Renounces All Conjugal Covenants

Jack sighed in the morning light, a bejewelled hand reaching up to rest upon his temples.

"Let's see if I've an accurate understanding of this," he said at last, turning to glare disparagingly at his wife, who lowered her head and averted her eyes.

"You were there," he began slowly, determined to draw out this punishment. Cate simply nodded in chastised agreement at the accusation.

"And not only were _you_ there, but she was also there?"

"Yes; yes we were," she said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous, her smile fleeting at the look on her husband's face.

"And… she was also restrained, was she not?"

"Well… yes, she… she was tied down to… to the bedposts," Cate confessed, the embarrassment which she had repressed at the sight having now emerged and painting her face scarlet. "With her stockings."

"And she was wearing a shift."

"That's right—and _only_ a shift!" she exclaimed, clearly panicked. "A… a very… transparent one."

Jack was cold and unyielding.

"And Dickinson was there?"

"He was," Cate affirmed miserably.

"I see. Mrs. Sparrow, might I recapitulate all the information you've provided me?"

Cate knew the question was rhetorical, and so kept her tongue silent.

"You _had_ Sierra, currently our only escape from this divine wedlock of ours, in naught but her undergarments, her wrists bound to the bedposts, and the necessary witness at hand, and somehow, instead of seducing her like any half-decent wife would, you mocked her vulnerability, toyed with her emotions, and succeeded in causing her hatred for you to exacerbate further."

Cate shrugged. "I find it very difficult to talk to women!" she exclaimed, clearly distraught. "They either think I'm a remorseless bitch or a mute with a balance problem."

"Oh, Cate…" Jack groaned in frustration.

"What do we do?" Cate asked him fearfully. "Or rather, should we do anything at all? Jack, there's always been ridiculous rumours floating about the Caribbean about you, and I hardly doubt that _this_ would subtract from the legend. Why, before I met you, I was under the impression that Jack Sparrow was a brawny _giant_ of a man; a prime example of masculine quintessence; a thorough strategist; an experienced, womanising rogue and a _fantastic_ lover. But now that I've actually met you—"

"Yes, Cate!" Jack snapped, clearly irritated. "That's quite enough from you!" And he stalked away from her, wrenching open the cabin door. "I'll be in town for a while; when I've returned, I fully expect you to have wrung an annulment out of that bastard cleric, even if it kills him."

"Why, where are you going?" Cate asked, following her husband obediently. They both pretended not to notice how some of the crew were looking at one another and commenting on what a happily married couple the two of them made, even in the grips of a lovers' spat such as this.

"Look at tha'!" one deckhand exclaimed as he scrubbed persistently at the boards. "Married fer less'n twen'y-four hours, an' she's already askin' 'im where he be going! Tha' be true love, tha' is!"

"Listen, mate, being a pirate doesn't necessarily give you the right to a false Cornish accent," snapped his companion. "Nor is it an excuse to forego the basic grammatical rules of the English language; we're not Americans."

(But to ignore this slight anachronism and return to the current tale…)

"What business do you have in Kingston Town?" Cate demanded shrilly, playing every inch of the indignant housewife to perfection. "And how long are you going to be?"

Jack rounded on her, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

"Well, as of this moment, I'm of a mind to visit an old acquaintance, plunder some supplies, and retrieve my hat."

"Your hat?"

"Aye; she ran off with my coat." And without another word of explanation, Jack ordered the few crewmen who _weren't_ beaming happily at the married couple to lower one of the longboats, and left Cate to gawp at her spouse in disbelief as he rowed away from his ship and into port.

* * *

Jack Sparrow was feeling rather proud of himself (what surprise!); he had successfully concluded all that needed concluding before noon, and he had also wooed himself back into Sierra's good graces, which hadn't actually been one of his original objectives when he'd set out this morning. 

Well, it hadn't been a priority, in any case.

But now, it appeared as though they were reconciled. It was with a bitter irony that such reconciliation had occurred on the very day he was going to cast her ashore, but Jack knew that he had no choice. Another glance at the young woman walking silently beside him, her blue eyes clear of any traces of tears which she had shed at the loss of her unborn child, simultaneously assured him of her presence and affirmed his suspicion that sea life didn't agree with her in the slightest. He felt her fingers brush gently against his hand, but when he glanced down, those same fingers were clutching at her skirt, clearly determined not to touch him again.

"A countess?" he asked her suddenly, and she jumped, her face colouring, clearly startled at the casual words.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Apparently—Well, Jean said that I greatly resemble a French aristocrat, who's been abducted, and no word has been heard of her since—"

"She's probably run off with the stable boy," Jack dismissed.

"Yes," she breezily brushed aside the irrelevant comment. "Well, anyway, Jean's idea was that I take this woman's place; he gets the reward, and I in turn receive all the material comforts wealth has to offer."

"Not to mention the social connections and habitual reverence of the peasantry," Jack pointed out.

"Do you think I should accept his offer?"

Jack tried not to show surprise at her words; she was asking _him_ for advice. It was merely testament to the flighty female temperance that barely twenty-four hours before she was whispering the name of another man, and now when he glanced at her she was looking upon him with… Well, not _love_, per se, but something rather close to it.

"Why are you so hesitant?" he enquired, and she sighed.

"I don't think I can do it," she told him. "I mean, look at what I'm _wearing_! Hardly fitting garments for a noblewoman." And she glared sullenly down at herself, causing Jack to bite his tongue to prevent him from blurting out that she still looked beautiful. "I may look like her—supposedly—but I've no idea what this woman is actually like—and I've never been a very good actress," she added, and he snorted at this.

"I'm scared," she confessed, uncaring of whether he thought her a coward. "There are just so many things—which part of France is she from?" she asked suddenly, and Jack expressed surprise at being expected to know. "There are so many different accents and dialects within the French language—she might be a provincial aristocrat, and if I don't—"

"Ah, but what other alternative do you have?" Jack interrupted her, and her distress subsided slightly.

"I hate being so helpless," she said at last, and her tone was one of annoyance. Jack didn't respond to her words, engaged as he was in untying his boat from its slightly illegal moor. When the last knot was undone, he stepped back, and gallantly offered his lady a hand. His hand instinctively clenched into a fist when he caught a glimpse of her slender ankle as she clambered in, and in one swift moment he had been reduced from a man of contemplation with only one regret to a man who wanted nothing more than to push her down and have her in that longboat right then and there.

He didn't of course, and it wasn't simply because he was very-nearly-almost-but-not-quite a gentleman; it was also because the memory of Sierra's Steve still hung fresh in his mind, and coupled with what Teresa had gloatingly told him barely fifteen minutes before (_Spectacularly well-endowed,_ he recalled with a repressed shudder), he was feeling oddly jealous of the man today.

"Will Pearl be alright?" Sierra asked worriedly, pulling him away from his thoughts.

"Why do you ask?" he queried.

"Well, she just sort of… _ran off_ with two other children we've never met before!" Sierra reminded him, a maternal worry lacing her tone.

"Forrester will catch them," Jack promised her.

"But—"

"He _will_," Jack assured her, and Sierra merely crossed her arms and leaned back in irritation, miffed that the man had dismissed his own child's well-being so breezily.

Rowing back to the _Pearl_ in silence gave Jack time to think, and peek down Sierra's bodice, and think again. "You've never thanked me, you know," he told her airily as he propelled the boat forward with smooth, even strokes.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked him warily, and he grinned.

"You've never thanked me," he repeated, grinning smugly at her. "For saving you from a life of desolate prostitution."

"You _didn't_ 'save' me," she retorted sharply. "Pearl did; _you_ were quite willing to leave me behind in Tortuga."

Jack waved away her accusations with one fathomless glance, and she scowled at him, clearly piqued that she could not read him with the same elegant ease that he read her.

"Anything particular in mind?" she said at last in the voice that only a truly bored woman can command.

"Just one kiss," Jack answered her, feigning ignorance of her uninterested manner.

"Oh, Jack…" Sierra said, a laughing lilt in her voice.

"What?"

"I know it'll be more than a _kiss_," she answered him.

Jack looked at her, making certain to appear affronted, and she _did_ laugh this time, clapping her hands in delight.

Then suddenly, her face was before him, her legs straddling his, a hand resting on his shoulder; and though he did not drop the oars, he did find himself robbed of the strength to lift them. He simply sat there, a sitting duck, waiting for her to offer an explanation for her considerably wanton behaviour.

"I don't believe it's customary for a countess to treat her male acquaintances with such… informality," he breathed onto her lips.

Her eyes were sparkling with mirth, daring him to continue, to make a move. "It is if that countess is French," she replied, her other hand dropping to a place it really shouldn't have.

He always found it odd, how she toyed with him; how she enjoyed tormenting him, her body pressing so provocatively against his, and her hand… doing _that_, and her blue eyes all but _ordering_ him to have his way with her. No other woman, whore or otherwise, behaved with the same carefree unrestraint that she did.

He found that he liked it. He was drawn to her barefaced shamelessness; she always knew exactly what she wanted, and didn't care what others thought of her. She was the only woman he'd ever encountered who could match him in sexual abandon.

"Jack…" she said to him, although it was more of a whisper. He was silent, waiting patiently for her to continue, although she seemed not to have any more to say.

Finally, she drew back, crawling down to rest her head on his lap like an obedient pet. "Just a goodbye kiss, then?" she murmured somewhere into his thigh, her fingers toying with his fraying sash.

"Just a goodbye kiss," he confirmed, reluctantly resuming his rowing. It was always like that with her; a brief, intense moment of passion which immediately subsided, leaving the two of them to continue as though such an instance had never occurred in the first place. No other woman had ever played such a tantalising game with him.

He kept his hand protectively on the small of her back, of course, as she climbed up and onto the _Pearl_, the boat bobbing unquestioningly beneath them. And what a strange sight greeted them, as they clambered onto the deck.

"Cate!" Jack bellowed commandingly, and the woman turned obediently at the sound of her captain's voice. Taking a few steps away from Sierra, who was openly gawking at the spectacle before her and appeared not to notice his yell, he beckoned his wife forward, and the blonde complied without question.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked of the woman as he looked imperiously down at her. Indistinctly, he thought he heard Sierra mention how she'll be collecting her belongings from her cabin, and registered the vague swirl of her skirts and light pattering of her dancer's feet.

"Why, Captain," Cate addressed formally, a golden eyebrow arched, "I'm merely carrying out your orders."

"_My_ orders?" Jack quizzed.

"Yes, sir; the orders being to wrangle out an annulment from that bastard excuse of a cleric, no matter what the cost."

"_Yes_, but…"

"But…?" she enquired in all innocence.

"Oh, Cate!" Jack exploded. "He's hanging upside down from the mizzenmast! An explanation, if you'll be so kind?"

Cate merely shrugged, picking at an imaginary bit of lint from her coat. "It was his choice," she told him uncompromisingly. "It was either to be hung from his ankles or have a hot poker shoved up his arse."

Jack winced, his frustration momentarily forgotten as he grimaced in empathetic pain.

"You threatened to bugger him with a poker?" he asked her disbelievingly.

"Aye, that I did."

_What a woman,_ he couldn't help but think. "You there," he addressed the three crewmen who were effectively anchoring Father Dickinson, "lower the good father—gently now!

"And as for you," he added, rounding on his wife, who had taken to smirking at him.

"'Tis not against the Code, nor is it against your Articles, to hang a troublesome crewmember by his ankles from the mizzenmast," she reminded him superciliously, and he glared.

"I'll deal with you later," he told her, stepping aside and sashaying forward to ensure that Dickinson hadn't been _too_ traumatised. The poor priest was a shivering wreck, clinging tightly to his captain as he gibbered about death and paradise and overcharging government representatives.

After ten minutes or so of such spittle-flying nonsense, Sierra reappeared, flanked by Jean-François, both carrying a bundle of some sort. Her eyes met his in a silent question as she strolled, largely unnoticed by the crew, towards the railing, and he knew that she was ready to leave. He ordered a few of the hands to assist their fair 'passenger,' a command that caused Dickinson's tune to change dramatically as his tears desiccated and he began to condemn the woman as a vile succubus and whore.

Jack shook the man off of his arm and strolled towards her, noticing that Cate, who had been lurking at the railing, was gradually pulling away.

"Are you two _really_ married?" she questioned curiously, watching as Dickinson began to hyperventilate.

"Of course we are," Jack confirmed. "Why?"

Sierra said nothing, merely gaping at him, and he was surprised to see that there was apparently little, if any, pain in her bright blue eyes.

"I… I just thought…" she sputtered, at a loss for words. "I thought you were lying…"

Jack arched his eyebrows at this. "Why would I lie about being married?"

Sierra shrugged helplessly, and in that one moment, she was looking heartbreakingly vulnerable yet again; just like last night, when he'd visited her in secret. "I… I just naturally assumed that you wanted to get me into bed…" she confessed. Although this was not the actual reason Jack had allowed himself to be wed for the thirteenth time, it was not what one would call a falsehood, so he let the comment pass.

"Oh," Sierra groaned, a hand reaching up to rest upon her forehead; for one terrifying moment, Jack thought she was about to swoon, and so hastened towards her as a result, but alas, consciousness triumphed. "Oh, Jack…" Her words were either a cry of exasperation or a plea of desperation; he was uncertain as to which.

She shook her head, dark hair swirling about her shoulders. "Do…" she began as her belongings were gently lowered into the boat; stopped, hesitant, before determinedly continuing, "Do you like it?"

"Being married?"

She nodded vigorously, her blue eyes on his, the both of them ignoring Cate, and the blonde frowned at this; a striking woman of her calibre was unaccustomed to going unnoticed—particularly when she was the topic of conversation.

Jack merely shrugged his shoulders in a cavalier manner. "It's… tolerable," he told the brunette honestly enough.

"You told me it was invalid," she accused, the shock slowly giving way to anger and hurt.

"It is," Jack hurried to assure her, stepping forward and attempting to take her arm; she pulled her elbow away and turned, blue eyes flying flippantly over Cate, standing there, watching her husband and her potential inamorata gazing into one another's eyes and feeling rather put out as a result.

"So why—"

"Dickinson thinks it's valid," Cate spoke at last—and when she did so it was in the cold, bitter voice of a woman scorned—a voice that didn't sound like Cate's at all. Glancing over at her, he could see the pretty pirate strolling lazily towards them, her hips swaying to a silent rhythm as she approached. "The crew thinks its valid, beliefs which have caused my _dear_ husband—" and she slipped her arm into the crook of Jack's elbow, reaching up to kiss him before leaning her golden head affectionately on his shoulder, "—much distress," she concluded lazily, yet her voice still held a challenge for the woman before her. It really was hard to believe that Cate's possessiveness over Jack stemmed from a secret desire to claim Sierra's flesh as her own. No small wonder Sierra never caught on.

"I… I see," Sierra stuttered, unconsciously wringing her hands. She was silent as she looked closely at the married couple, meticulously studying their behaviour towards one another. Then she cast her eyes towards Dickinson, who had not once paused in his condemnation of Sierra's vile and wicked ways, her eyes distant and contemplative. Finally, she turned her gaze back to the captain.

"Is this what your request of a goodbye kiss is all about? To convince Dickinson to annul your marriage?" she guessed, and he nodded.

"I see," she said, her face alighting with a mischievous grin. She stopped closer to both man and wife, her eyes locked on Jack's all the while, causing Cate to fidget in discomfort.

"Jack…" she murmured to him in that soft, seductive whisper of hers.

"Hmm?" he hummed back, feigning naïveté.

"I'm going to be climbing down into that boat in a moment," she said slowly, her breath tickling his lips. "So I suppose this is our goodbye… isn't it?"

"I assume so…" Jack agreed, leaning slowly closer—

Only to have her spin away from him in a graceful dance, her dark hair whipping his face as she laughed at his foolishness.

"Oh, Jack…" she giggled as he stepped back a little and looked curiously at her. She'd stopped chuckling now, and was standing perfectly still, watching him.

"Jack…" she said again, in that condescending way of hers. "You really are quite naïve, aren't you?"

Before he had a chance to open his mouth and question her on her cryptic words, she'd darted nimbly forward—to Cate.

Jack was rendered powerless, and found that he could do nothing more than merely stand there and stare as Sierra's hand reached up to roughly rest on Cate's skull, elegant fingers digging into that pale hair, forcing the woman to stand still as she brought her lips to hers in a crushing kiss. And even if he was able to move, he didn't think he'd wanted to. It was quite a good view from here.

Never before had the captain seen a more captivating sight, and he'd seen a fair few. Sappho herself would have smiled in admiration.

Cate and Sierra. Sierra and Cate. Both beautiful, both charismatic—and both _his_, he realised suddenly as Sierra's other hand wrapped about Cate's waist, supporting the blonde, who looked ready to collapse at the excitement of it all; they both, in one way or another, belonged to _him_. And now, here they stood, pale, slender, striking creatures, one dark, one fair, both blue-eyed—and kissing one another as though their very lives depended upon it. For Cate, it probably did; Jack assumed that this was the first time a woman she had found attractive had initiated any act of intimacy. And as for Sierra… Well, God only knew what _she_ was thinking, what this meant to her.

It appeared that the two women were unaware of the ship, of the ocean, of the entire crew gaping in undisguised fascination (even Dickinson had halted in his tirade to stare at the pair of them): they were too lost in the kiss, that sweet, eternal kiss; lost in one another. Cate's own hands, trembling with delight, had reached up to lightly rest upon Sierra's shoulders; the brunette seemed to purr in approval, or so it seemed to Jack, gawping at them with his mouth hanging shamelessly open. The woman pulled the pirate closer to her, so close that their bodies were pressed against one another's; and then, suddenly, she was stumbling backwards, her skirt flapping rapidly about her legs.

But not once did she let go of Cate, choosing instead to force her to fall with her—and it wasn't until Sierra felt herself pressed flush against the railing of the _Pearl_ did she decide to take control, spinning suddenly so that their positions were reversed, Cate sandwiched pleasantly between the beautiful woman and the ebony ship.

Finally, Sierra drew away, gazing into Cate's eyes, her own blue orbs unfathomable. Cate, breathing heavily, her hair spilling about her shoulders like liquid gold, could do nothing but gaze back, entranced as she was by those beautiful blue eyes that merely moments ago had been closed when they'd kissed…

Jack continued to watch the pair, a frown etched upon his features; was it his imagination, or did something… a sort of spark, he supposed, pass between the two of them?

Before he could further ponder upon this query, however, his thoughts were once again disturbed by Sierra's impetuous actions: only this time, instead of kissing Cate or instigating any further act of intimacy, Sierra had chosen to push her over the railing, and the pirate fell overboard with a scream followed by a splash.

Whatever romantic or sexual atmosphere the kiss had created was immediately shattered; instantaneously, several members of the crew rushed over to peer worryingly down into the turbulent waters, whilst Sierra herself flew daintily away from the railing, wiping her hands on her dress and laughing in malicious mischief.

"So tell me, Father," she crooned, mockingly addressing Dickinson with his title, "What have you to say on the marriage now?"

Dickinson appeared to explode at her teasing, and swore vehemently to renounce all conjugal covenants, declaring such arrangements invalid and void. Sierra grinned, her hands clapping together in delight, and darted as far away from any edge of the _Pearl_ as she could as a soaking Cate clambered back on board, arms wrapped around her shivering body in spite of the warm Caribbean sun beating down upon her. She seemed completely at a loss of what to say or how to respond, choosing instead to look at Sierra in confusion.

But Sierra wasn't looking at Cate; she had eyes only for Jack.

"So…" she said casually to the captain as Cate, realising that her white shirt was very nearly transparent due to her unexpected swim, hurriedly scuttled off to the captain's cabin. "I'll be seeing you later, won't I? To retrieve Pearl and discuss her… future."

Jack, his mind still reeling from both the kiss and Sierra's unexpected act of betrayal, simply nodded, momentarily struck dumb.

"Well, then…" Sierra said, adjusting her sleeves dispassionately as she looked steadily up at him. "I suppose this is goodbye."

Again, an affirmative gesture of his head. Sierra bowed her own head once in return, and spun on her heel, moving gracefully back to the rope ladder, at the end of which awaited a boat, and ignoring all the glances and comments made to her when Jack, finally finding his voice, called out her name.

She paused, her hand resting on one of the ladder's twin knots, and turned to look quizzically up at him.

"Yes, Jack?" she asked politely, and the captain found himself uncertain of what to say.

"What about _my_ goodbye kiss?" he challenged with a winsome grin.

There was a silence as Sierra gawped openly at him before her face cracked open into a smile, and she was laughing softly once more.

"Oh, Jack…" she said patiently, shaking her head with a smile on her lips. "That _was_ your goodbye kiss."

And she had swung herself onto the ladder and was gone without a trace, clearly desperate to be as far away from the _Pearl_ as possible for fear of Cate's wrath at being so greatly humiliated before her colleagues.

For a moment, Jack just stood there, gaping at the spot where the kiss had occurred, and he would very probably have stayed like that for quite a while, had not Father Dickinson stalked over to him, huffing in displeasure.

"How _could_ you!" the cleric raged, angered at the betrayal. "How could you possibly make that abominable and _unworthy_ woman your wife?"

And he then dealt the captain a slap that rivalled all of the whores of Tortuga's before, tears springing to his eyes, dashing across the deck and scurrying down to the crew's quarters, intent on crying his wretched eyes out and howling at the unfairness of it all.

The smack was just what Jack needed to pull him back to earth; with a wince, he shook his head and, rubbing his sore cheek, wandered over to look out to the ocean. He saw Sierra's form, dressed in brown and white, her dark hair flying over her shoulder as she exchanged words with Jean, who Jack assumed was furious at her for throwing Cate overboard. As he watched, he saw her stiffen, as though she knew that there were eyes on her back. He pulled away as she turned, making certain she didn't catch him watching her. It'd only serve to get her hopes up, after all, and if there was thing Jack hated, it was a woman with false hope; well, to a certain extent…

Catching his crew staring at him, he turned on his heel, and barked at them to return to their duties, smirking with satisfaction as they immediately scuttled to do his bidding. He loitered on deck for a minute longer, making certain that his men were working satisfactorily, before swaying over to his cabin.

Cate was inside, sitting on the bed, still in her drenched garments, a pair of fingers hovering over her lips. She jumped as he entered, and blushed in embarrassment at being caught in such a vulnerable position.

"That was… unexpected," she squeaked, wrapping her arms about herself.

Jack merely grunted in agreement, wrapping a spare bed sheet about her shoulders as a makeshift towel. He was about to pull away, but was stopped by Cate's hands snatching up to rest upon his fingers. Quizzical, he looked down at her to see her staring back up at him, her violet eyes wide and pleading.

"Does she know?" she asked softly. "She knows, doesn't she?"

"I doubt it," Jack dismissed, pulling his hands out of her grip and leaving Cate to stand nervously in the middle of his cabin.

"She… She kissed me," Cate breathed, her hands reaching up to brush her lips once more. It was as if the woman had never once been kissed before, and Jack couldn't help but find her childishness irritating.

"It was just a kiss," he reminded her imperiously.

"But it was the first time that anyone's—" Cate began, then stopped, looking suspiciously at him, and despite the fact that he hadn't done anything wrong, Jack found himself overcome with intense feelings of guilt. Silence could do that to a man.

"Jack…" Cate began, moving close. "What's all this about a goodbye kiss?"

"What?"

"A goodbye kiss," Cate repeated, her tone low and accusatory, her eyes narrowing as she stared defiantly up at him. "Sierra had mentioned something about a goodbye kiss to you."

Jack merely stared at her, uncertain as to why Cate would find such a thing so hateful. The silence seemed to be enough for Cate, though, and she stepped menacingly towards him.

"Jack…" she asked him in a low, threatening voice, "Did you happen to… _instruct_ her to kiss me?"

There was a long, awkward pause as Jack silently debated which answer would offend her least. If he replied in the negative, Cate would assume that either Sierra found her attractive of her own accord, or that her hatred towards the pirate was such that she was willing to degrade herself to the level of kissing Cate simply to humiliate her. Whereas if he said yes, Cate would hurtfully assume that Sierra had no attraction towards her at all, but simply loved Jack so much she was willing to do anything he asked of her.

…That was such a wonderful thought…

"Yeah," he tried, feigning nonchalance. "I do believe that I did."

There was a pause as Cate absorbed his words. "Do you mean that?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

"…Yes?" he tried, and even though he knew that he was larger and stronger than her, with a band of loyal men behind him, he felt suddenly afraid.

"Cate," he attempted to appease her as she stalked menacingly forwards. "Listen, darling, I…" He paused, stumbling slowly backwards as Cate continued to take her light, intimidating steps.

"Why?" she asked him softly, and Jack swallowed.

"There comes a time in every man's life when he has the chance to choose between right," he gestured towards an imaginary symbol of righteousness, "and wrong," he continued, confusingly waving his hand at some invisible point to his own right. Cate continued to stare at him, an eyebrow raised.

"…He only misses by one," Jack concluded uneasily.

Suddenly, she leapt upon him, and Jack, fearing for the worse, yelped as he stumbled backwards into the desk. He felt a flash of anger course through him as her hands clung tightly to his arms, his shoulders, before travelling to his neck, and he retaliated by grabbing her waist, desperate to push her off before—

Is she kissing me?

Confused by the lunacy of the entire situation, he froze, hands resting gently on her waist as she showered his face with kisses, laughing in delight all the while.

"Jack!" she cried, still laughing. "Oh, Jack!" Her voice was loud, friendly, warm, as was her body, still drenched as it was in the cold water. Finally, she pulled away, her eyes shining, making her appear all the more beautiful to Jack.

"I love you, Jack Sparrow," she grinned, and for the first time in his life Jack was able to experience a woman professing her undying love for him without balking. She pressed her lips briefly to his ear before drawing back slightly and playfully rubbing her nose against his. "I want to marry you and have your children!"

Jack turned his cheek away at this, and pulled back slightly to glare at her.

"You had your chance."

**THE END**

**AN:** Comments?


End file.
